


treehouse

by illwoosion



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: 2choi are brothers, Gen, Horror, Mental Illness, how do i tag uhh, if you're squeamish i don't recommend this!!, lots of blood n stuff but not actually scary bc i'm babie, mingi best boy, slight bit of woosan, teenager! ateez, this is kinda triggering seriously pls read at your own risk!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:07:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22514467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illwoosion/pseuds/illwoosion
Summary: in illusion city, there's a small treehouse.small, but sturdy.sturdy enough to comfortably hold eight boys, who are currently watching movies and munching on popcorn.inside the treehouse, an assortment of sickly candy, sugary snacks and people litter the oak floor. the eight boys are huddled close together, bodies piled upon each other, finding comfort in each other's company.outside, the electric telephone wires buzz. the crickets chirp. the owls hoot. the city stalls.welcome to illusion city, population: 9
Comments: 43
Kudos: 60





	1. 10:00

**Author's Note:**

> tw | ⚠️ this book contains graphic violence, gore and death. please read with care.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "enjoy your stay in illusion city!"

in **illusion city** , there's a small treehouse.

small, but sturdy.

sturdy enough to comfortably hold eight boys, who are currently watching movies and munching on popcorn.

inside the treehouse, an assortment of sickly candy, sugary snacks and people litter the oak floor. the eight boys are huddled close together, bodies piled upon each other, finding comfort in each other's company.

they lay stomach down, none of them really paying any attention to the blaring laptop screen showcasing a cheesy horror movie.

"who's idea was it to watch this film? there's no way this should be called a horror film.""the only good horror movies are the scary ones, and you know mingi gets scared too easily," the eldest, **park seonghwa** , scolds.

after all of them agreeing the movie was a waste of the laptop's battery, **jeong yunho** , the owner of the treehouse, puts on some music, and they all chat amongst themselves, joking and laughing together.

outside, the electric telephone wires buzz. the crickets chirp. the owls hoot. the city stalls.

"yah, it's 10pm already? my halmoni's gonna kill me!" **song mingi** exclaims. time seemed relative when they hung out in the treehouse; the clock runs too quickly for them.

"we should head off too. it's getting dark already," **choi san** says, looping an arm around his younger brother, **choi jongho**. indeed, the sun outside had bid it's farewells long ago, and the rising moon urges the eight boys to go home.

"wooyoung-ah, do you want to take the bus together?" **kang yeosang** says quietly into one boy's ear.

 **jung wooyoung** has been awfully quiet this evening.

the two best friends help each other down the rope ladder as the others pile down after them, each of them leaving the treehouse except for yunho.

"it's okay, sangie, i think my mom's picking me up in a bit," wooyoung reassures, patting yeosang's arm whilst telling him to get home safely.

their exchanged goodbyes ring clearly through the midnight blue scenery. stars twinkle from above, intent on guiding them home safely.

yunho oversees his friends from above in the safety of his treehouse, watching them separate and head their different ways. he hums quietly to himself and shuts the trapdoor.

—

**_welcome to illusion city!_ **

_population: 9_


	2. 10:05

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "enjoy your stay in illusion city!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ⚠️ this chapter contains graphic violence, gore and death. please read with care.

the sky was getting darker more quickly than **park seonghwa** would've liked. before he'd even unchained his bike from the lamppost, the sky was awash with twinkling stars.

his house is the furthest away from the treehouse, on the outskirts of **illusion city** , resulting in a twenty minute bike ride (fifteen minutes if he pedals hard enough).

a minute into his journey, seonghwa breaks into a sweat.

five minutes in, and he knows something isn't right.

his bicycle, newest edition and well-cared for, keeps slipping on the smooth pavement. as if there were no friction between the road and wheels. he struggles to pedal in a straight line.

he looks behind him, eyes widening in astonishment.

he'd exerted himself to the maximum, pedalling as hard as he could go, yet he'd only moved a couple kilometres. usually, he'd be far gone from the street he was in. he could still see the treehouse's blinking lights from here.

after risking another fall off his bike, he finally gets off to check out the unusual situation.

 _strange_.

despite it not raining for a couple weeks (the korean summer drought was upon them), his tyres were wet.

 _drenched_ , even.

he touches the liquid gingerly and sniffs it. the substance burns his nostrils and his lungs cry at the fumes.

the smell of fire and thunder.

 **gasoline**.

_why was his bike soaked in petrol?_

confused, seonghwa decides to carry on with his journey. whilst he maintains a calm exterior, his heart is pounding in his ears and he doesn't dare look behind him.

he hears a twig snap. his heart catches in his throat.

**he's watched too many horror films to know what that means.**

the wheels on his bike can't seem move quickly enough as seonghwa feels eyes following the back of his sweaty neck. he's panting now, mouth dry and hands shaky. he feels trapped.

and suddenly, the bike lurches forward, and seonghwa's heart stops.

and then fire. **fire everywhere.**

everything is happening too quickly; there's a branch stuck in his wheel, alight with an angry fire that hungrily licks up the rubber tyres and burns the metal.

burning him, too.

he screams. it's ugly, it's off-tune with the ringing in his ears and the crackling of flames that hurt so much.

his lungs ache within his chest, begging for salvation from the thick smok that blinds his senses.

the fire has eaten up the gasoline so quickly, that he can no longer move; his legs are lost beneath the melted remains of his bike and the monstrous fire that devours the rest of his skin.

he screams again, this time he's swallowing red as the fire enters the roof of his mouth. _everything hurts._ the pain numbs the racing thoughts in seonghwa's brain that's slowly cooking inside his skull.

the smell of ash and cooking meat fill his nostrils; the last thing he knows before he succumbs to the flames.

—

**_welcome to illusion city!_ **

_population: 8_


	3. 10:20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "enjoy your stay in illusion city!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ⚠️ this chapter contains graphic violence, gore and death. please read with care.

the walk from the treehouse to hongjoong's house is tranquil. the sweet smell of wildflowers and fresh air calms him down as his favourite tunes deafen his ears.

moments like these are what hongjoong lives for.

happiness is found in small doses, and this was definitely one of those times.

making sure no one else is around on the silent street, he allows himself to smile widely. his heart is full of good music, belly-aching laughs and perfect company. the perfect evening.

hongjoong rarely experiences times of pure happiness; times like these were stolen by school stress and pressure from parents and ravaging anxiety.

 _maybe everything will be okay now,_ he thinks to himself. he hugs his jacket tighter and turns up the volume of his music.

he closes his eyes as the first melodic notes fills his ears, savouring the sweet sound.

until they widen again, pupils blown and body tense.

goosebumps crawl onto his arms and the nape of his neck. the blood in his hands run cold, yet they still profusely sweat.

**he swears he's not alone.**

the sensation of being stalked never wavers as continues his journey. he turns down the volume and stares straight ahead and walks a little quicker. his house is only a block away, _if he can just walk a bit faster-_

and then the **eyes** that were following the back of his neck **stop**.

the feeling of being watched dissipates, and hongjoong breathes a sigh of relief.

 _idiot, there's no one here_ , he reassures himself.

he's been watching too many horror films and spending too much time with mingi.

still, he doesn't dare slow down his pace. he turns up the music to maximum volume and hums to himself, as if it were a mantra to ward off anything ( _not that there's anything there_ ) that's following him.

a hip hop song full of bass and drum beats cloud his senses, leaving **vulnerable** hongjoong unaware of his surroundings.

and then he hears a scream loud enough to pierce through the song and shoot through his head. there's **pain**. pain everywhere. every inch of his body shivers.

he yanks the headphones off forcefully and tries to look around.

_it's excruciatingly painful to move his neck._

there's nobody else on this street.

his vocal chords feel raw.

and that scream was **his**.

there's something sticky trickling down his shirt, ruining his new jacket.

he feels for his throat. his fingers go right throught a gaping wound in his neck, pushing into the tendons and bone. his cold fingers feel like ice in the warm, sticky blood.

he can even feel his slowing heartbeat **dying** out through his flesh.

he slowly pulls out his fingers from the deep gash (the squelching sound makes his face turn a sickly green shade) and he watches a spray of vermillion trickle a few feet in front of him. blood flows freely into his mouth, metallic and sickly sweet. he accidentally swallows, and the sensation of his own thick, warm blood pouring down his throat only to come right back up into his mouth makes him want to _sob_. his tongue feels heavy and scarlet stains his chin.  
and yet he's as still as a statue; paralysed.

everything is happening agonisingly slowly. and all hongjoong can do is **wait to die**

his legs finally give way, and he falls on his back, probably snapping a few bones. blood soaks the concrete beneath him and dyes his mullet red.

he looks up and sees a boy staring back at him.

 _he knows him!_ _he's-_

but hongjoong can't quite place a finger on his name.

the blood loss tampers with hongjoong's once-intelligent mind and **amnesia** takes its place.

_who is he?_

_who am i?_

_where am i?_

**am i dying?**

—

**_welcome to illusion city!_ **

_population: 7_


	4. 10:30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "enjoy your stay in illusion city!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ⚠️ this book contains graphic violence, gore and death. please read with care.

  
it's now half-past ten, according to the clock hanging in yunho's treehouse. he lazily flicks through video games with dissatisfaction, finally picking a gruesome zombie game that's as scary as the cheesy film he'd watched with his friends a couple hours ago.

the treehouse he sat in was the jeong family's pride and joy; the treasure buried at the back of their house, if you will. it had been built for yunho and his younger brother when they were both children, and had been adapted over the years. for example, the most recent addition had been the mini-fridge that stocked icy sodas (and sometimes a couple cans of beer). electricity had been added a few years back, since the idea of using candles as a light source in a wooden hut was a risk nobody was willing to take.

he even had a wifi connection, which he was now using to shoot **brainless** zombies. yunho's eyes were glazed with concentration and the flashing lights that emitted from the screen. scarlet splattered the screen everytime he won a headshot kill (modestly, yunho admits he's a pro at all video games).

a _ping!_ from his phone beside him finally makes yunho peel his tired eyes away from the television and move his strained neck. he peers down at the message he receives.

 **mom <3:**  
i'm home! come down please xx

 _ah, his cue to leave the treehouse._ he's spent a whole day in here, thanks to the lazy summer nights that stretch a few more hours than necessary.

he looks back up to the screen and unpauses.

 _thunk_.

a dull, aching **thud** echoes throughout the wooden room. the screen glitches from a foreign object cutting through it's wires.

a knife, covered in cloying blood is lodged into the wall, leaving a large hole in the screen.

 _well, the knife went through the zombie's head,_ yunho thinks weakly, and his neck snaps back.

the knife seems to have gone through his own head, too.

his death is quick, but not painless. the sharp, agonising pain at the back of his head burns like a wildfire, but numbs pretty quickly from the bloodloss.

the numbness feels **empty** , a feeling bright and cheerful yunho has never felt before. for a few moments, he's just a body, nothing more- still alive, but feeling nothing. the knife that had flown through his brain left a hole through his head that spilled out incoherent thoughts and so, _so_ much blood.

his limbs twitch and convulse, and then become limp; he's paralysed.

his eyes cloud over with mist. his friends had always envied his bright eyes that held so much life and happiness in them.

and now, they were pale and ugly and **dead**.

he could hear the droplets of blood from his skull dripping onto the wooden floor; it's the only thing he hears, until it stops. realisation fills yunho as his face pales much more quicker; the blood is now flowing out of his head, weaving a scarlet carpet onto the oak floor. he was dying **so quickly.**

he's not sure what happens after that. he doesn't know when he dies. he's not aware of anything anymore. his mom messages him again, a bit more urgently this time.

the boy behind the treehouse relishes in his work, marvelling his accuracy.

 **headshot**.

—

**_welcome to illusion city!_ **

_population: 6_


	5. 10:45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "enjoy your stay in illusion city!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ⚠️ this book contains graphic violence, gore and death. please read with care.

the bus crawls silently on smooth concrete, headlights gleaming through the creeping fog. the time reads 10:45pm and yeosang hops on, plugging in his earbuds and inspecting the rows of empty seats.

the bus is isolated, save for the driver and a small boy in all black. yeosang chooses to sit on the other side of the bus to the boy; the seat that had a little more leg space than the other seats (his favourite spot- perfect for admiring the view and watching other bus-users from afar).

the gentle hum of the bus engine and occasional soothing click of the turning indicator blends into his quiet music, and yeosang finds himself getting sleepier and sleepier. he slaps himself across the face (not too harsh to draw attention) and plays a much more upbeat tune to wake himself up. the driver whistles a merry tune to accompany it. the atmosphere is one of serenity and that weird nostalgia you feel on late night car rides.

soon into yeosang's thirty minute bus journey, the calmness turns unsettling. he feels an uneasiness grasp at his heart and snake around his throat. it silently and slowly suffocates him. he finds himself glancing towards the other boy frequently. it is too peaceful, so peaceful that yeosang keeps zoning out, unable to shake himself from the clutches of a dissociative state.

 _maybe he should sit closer to the boy, to stop this anxiety getting the better of him_ , he thinks.

the fallen night sky outside shrouds the bus in a chalky black that streetlights struggle to shine through. the darkness sits on top of passing cars and empty roads and lifeless houses, leaving silhouettes for objects and stripping them of any colour. what should be a stress free bus ride home from a perfect evening is slowly turning into an _anxiety-inducing nightmare_ for yeosang.

the driver stops whistling, and yeosang has never felt more awake.

he takes out his earbuds to remain vigilant, and types up a number on his phone. wooyoung's name illuminates his face, and he keeps a slightly shaky finger hovered above the dial button.

 _call a friend if you feel anxious in a scary situation!_ his parents, his peers, his teachers would always repeat in safeguarding lessons. and for once, yeosang was going to listen.

the click of the turning indicator matches yeosang's fearful heartbeat now, its pace speeding a touch too fast and sounding a little too sinister than it should. or maybe, he was just imagining things. curse mingi and his intolerance for anything remotely scary- he's having an effect on yeosang's rational thoughts.

he breathes in calmly once, holds, and exhales slowly. he counts the seconds and watches his hot breath cloud the glass. he doesn't feel any better. his neck feels stiff and his muscles ache from being so rigid, he hasn't moved since he sat down, he feels like he's being **watched** , like **something is waiting,** ** _something is wrong-_**

the tyres screech violently on the tarmac and screams into the night. yeosang snaps his head towards the driver.

a bloody lump barely recognisable as a head is slumped over the dashboard, multiple deep gashes from god knows where squirting thick streams of blood that shines jet black in the weak moonlight.

yeosang stops breathing. a gasp is caught in his throat and he makes a small, strangled noise, his eyes popping out of his skull in shock. he stands up, transfixed to his spot. _what the fuck are you supposed to do in situations like these?_

the bus swerves off the road and slips into a ditch, crashing through foliage. yeosang stumbles and cries out, crashing into the side of the bus. something in his back breaks.

the bus still hasn't stopped. it feels like it's picking up in speed. that is, until it crashes into something (yeosang suspects it crashes into a tree, thought he doesn't have much time to think about that) and the vehicle bends in half.

sharp metal prods yeosang's body (he's still stuck to the side of the bus), stabbing his skin. his legs won't move, and a sharp pain cuts into his skull. his phone, although smashed and destroyed, still blares wooyoung's name like a good omen. thankfully, it's at an arms reach, and yeosang dials his best friend.

_what does he even say to wooyoung? can he speak? why isn't his mouth working? when did his tongue get so heavy?_

before wooyoung can even pick up his call, a heavy boot kicks his shattered phone, and all yeosang can do is helplessly watch it ricochet across the floor. the impact of hitting several different things instantly kills his phone, and yeosang's last lifeline.

yeosang finally moves his head down to see the damage done to his body.

even if yeosang wasn't impaled by the sharp teeth of metal in his back, he'd still be trapped; his right leg is hooked under a low seat and twisting his foot at an unnatural angle. he's almost thankful he's immobile, since it seems any bit of movement would break his foot and cause excruciating pain.

he screws his eyes tight as he feels the shadow of a person loom over his small, frail, vulnerable body. the state he's in is pitiful.

it's the boy from earlier. the boy sitting calmly in front of yeosang just five minutes ago. a boy that makes yeosang feel like he's going to die in five seconds flat.

the levels of embarrassment he's feeling seeps through his chest like blood from a wound and stains his cheeks pink. he's so exposed and so **vulnerable** right now- the boy can see exactly who he is, whilst yeosang doesn't know anything about this boy. long, dark haired bangs cover his eyes and he sports a black facemask and black hoodie. he reeks of **petrol and blood.**

the boy in question quietly lifts a black combat boot and send it plummeting onto yeosang's trapped leg.

blinding hot white shoots through yeosang's body- even with his eyes closed, he's blinded. he can't breathe, the pain is _too much, too much,_ ** _too much._**

his throat is sore, but he doesn't know if he's screaming. the pressure on his broken leg doesn't alleviate; instead, the boys pushes _harder, and harder_. so hard that yeosang now knows for sure he's screaming, his head is thrown back and _he screams and howls and yells and cries so, so hard._

yeosang has never been one to overthink death. but without much thought, he's always wished his own death to be a quiet, painless, and quick one.

and it feels like his tormentor knows this, and is especially making sure yeosang gets _the exact opposite of his wishes._

it feels like hours, days, _years_ until yeosang _finally_ dies.

pain by itself cannot kill someone, but the extreme shock of excruciating pain will send a victim's body into **circulatory shock** , causing fatal damage to the organs and brain.

this is what yeosang learnt in school.

_this is what the boy in black learnt too._

—

**_welcome to illusion city!_ **

_population: 5_


	6. 10:55

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "enjoy your stay in illusion city!"

the watch wrapped around jongho's wrist reads five minutes to eleven and ticks to the beat of the footsteps of two brothers strolling down the solitary avenue. their laughter rings through the air and wraps the streetlamps with warm mirth; choi san has just made the funniest joke ever said on the planet, and his younger brother is left howling and gasping for breath.

"o-oh my god, i can't breathe," choi jongho wheezes, grabbing onto his brother for support. choi san's eyes shape into crescents, proud (and quite a bit smug) of his humour. they take their time getting home, as it's the perfect night to be staying out late, and the lazy summer heat freezes time. the lights glow an orange hue that isn't very effective in illuminating the streets, and it makes the two siblings feel sleepy on their long trek home.

they laugh so hard their stomachs ache, and they can't walk in a straight line. jongho holds onto his brother's shoulder for support as he carries on howling at more of san's hilarious anecdotes. the stars dance in their glassy, tearful eyes and all their worries melt away into the silent night.

"so," jongho says after a while, " _what's the deal with you and wooyoung hyung?_ "

the other's laughter falters and halts dead in his throat.

"nothing," he shrugs, eyes fixed to the pavement and his scuffed shoes. he (finally) picks up his pace going home, and jongho skips after him, trailing at his heels.

"that doesn't seem like nothing."

"drop it, jongho."

"you can tell me, you know," the younger carries on, "you can trust me, you know."

san sighs heavily, dramatic as always. his breath is the only breeze that carries through the deserted street. he cannot bring himself to look at jongho, but he walks a little slower, so they can walk in step. he looks around cautiously, just to check nobody else is listening in on their conversation. he doesn't expect there to be anyone out at this time of night, but he can't help but feel like the whole city is listening to them.

"i dunno, he's just... different. like, the eight of us, we're all best friends, right? but wooyoung... it's just _different_ with him."

san exhales the breath he didn't realise he was holding.

"so you wanna snog him," jongho says bluntly, his face so serious it would be considered theatrical to anyone else watching.

san slaps him on the shoulder, hard. jongho yelps.

" _yah_ , not like that, idiot!"

"ow! _then like what?_ "

san scratches the nape of his neck. now it really feels like the world is watching him, breathing down his neck (it's not jongho- he's just a few feet apart, kicking a pebble as they walk).

"he's... _ugh_ ," san groans frustratedly, "when i hang out with him, i feel like there's nobody else in the world- just us. like _nobody else is real_ , except for us." he groans again and thrusts his head into his hands. jongho retches beside him.

"that was so cheesy," he deadpans.

"i know, i can't believe i just said that, _oh my god._ "

a few more comfortable moments pass.

"achilles and patroclus," jongho states randomly.

"huh?"

"you know, greek mythology. something like, 'achilles wished all greeks would die, so that he and patroclus could conquer troy alone'. that's like you and wooyoung."

san pauses to reflect (the breathing down his neck pauses with him too).

"i... i think you're right."

"historians think they were gay lovers, you know," jongho says with an air of authority, and the serious atmosphere ceases and san pushes jongho into a ditch next to the road. he tumbles into the thick foliage.

when his brother's stupidly, annoyingly _massive_ head doesn't appear from the bushes, san begrudgingly goes to investigate. the ditch is a lot deeper than he anticipated, and through the trees appears to be the entrance to a dark forest.

"jongho, i'm telling you now, i don't like wooyoung like that! that's ridiculous, i swear. seriously, _we're just friends_ , i'm not-" san's voice trails away. after taking a few steps into the forest, it's impossible to trace any sort of light behind him, as if an entrance to the shrouding forest never existed. the trees ahead resemble the arms of creatures that'd only exist in horror films, and the freezing chill sends the hairs on his arms on point. anxiety gnaws away at the back of his brain.

bravely, he takes a few more hesitatant steps forward.

 _ah, curse song mingi and his cowardliness,_ he thinks- _s_ an's overactive imagination overwhelms his brain with all sorts of horror film scenarios that he just cannot ignore, much to his luck.

"jongho? come out now, i'm not playing anymore, seriously, get your ass here before i leave without you, _are you listening?_ i'm leaving now!"

no answer.

" _choi jongho_ , i'm giving you three seconds to quit playing now." san's breath is shallow and shaky, his pupils are blown wide and _he just can't get that stalking feeling off the back of his neck_.

"three."

"two."

"one."

san waits five more seconds, just in case.

"jongho, please come out i'm not joking anymore! please, please, please, please, please don't make me stay here, just come back here!" san screams. his voice is broken and he's suffocating under the thick anxiety that's swallowing him whole, and _he'd rather die here_ before something get him-

an unusual gurgling sound is heard a few feet away, and before san can process it, he runs to the sound, desperate to find his brother so they can return home.

he frantically calls his brother's name. the infinite blackout taunts him and follows him wherever he goes, so he can't see anything. the twigs breaking from under his feet heighten the inexplicable fear that chokes him. he feels like he's about to die from cardiac arrest any moment, if he doesn't get out of here soon. if nothing kills him here, then his own heart will betray him first.

his arms are blindly outstretched in front of him as he runs to find his brother. he doesn't need to see his hands to know they're scratched and bloody and embedded with splinters. every surface he encounters welcomes him with knife-sharp edges and the absence of his brother.

and then san runs straight into a tree (thank god his hands were outstretched in front of him), but the surface is squishy.

and it makes a sound. a horrifying, gurgling, squelching sound.

the moonlight gives way from under the opaque clouds, and provides a slither of milky light.

in front of him, a few centimetres away from his face, is his brother, upheld by a long knife lodged through his throat onto the tree he would've ran straight into. jongho's eyes, once alight with laughter and mischief, were glazed and lifeless. san can't find the words to say as his brother just stays there, helpless and hopeless.

jongho's eyes follow san as he steps back weakly. the blood from his throat smells sickly sweet and is as thick as honey, and san's shaky hands are drenched in it. the air grabs them in a chokehold that stinks of metal. time stand still as the two stare at each other, disbelief and shock clouding their thoughts.

" _who did this to you?_ " san whispers, the sound scratchy and hoarse.

jongho doesn't hear it. although plagued by shock, san forces his stiff arm to reach up to jongho's face and cradle it, both of their tears spilling and mingling with the black blood that coats everything surrounding them.

and then jongho is gone. _his brother is gone._

his younger brother is dead, his body displayed for all to see. it's a gruesome and sickly sight to look at, the way the perpetrator has him dangling on a tree like a piece of artwork, signed by his knife.

the blood from jongho's neck is still flowing.

with all the strength he has, san pulls on knife that holds jongho, and as it leaves the tree bark, jongho's body falls onto the ground, crumpling like paper. he sobs (he never realised he was crying before) and cradles the other in his arms. but there's no time to mourn; _his only mission is to escape this godforsaken forest_. and san runs the hardest he's ever ran.

the knife is still in his hand, and of course, he trips.

 _oh, fuck_ , he thinks, and shuts his eyes tightly together as he anticipates the fall.

for a second, everything is okay.

but the warm liquid that pools around him confirms his final breaths.

he's fallen on his stomach, and the knife has gone straight through it.

"o- oh," he murmurs quietly to nobody. even the breeze holds it's baited breathe (just as san is doing) and keeps quiet as realisation kicks in.

so mesmerised in the glinting black blood that pours from his wound, he barely notices the dull, scuffed leather boots that peek out from under dead leaves- the blood still dripping from the edges confirms his brother's murderer. he snaps his head up, and meets the piercing gaze of another person (it's impossible to decipher the gender of the figure, let alone who they actually are).

he doesn't have much time left, san knows. the slowing beating that resonates through his soul remains a constant reminder. he's choking on the wheezing breaths he barely has now.

the moonshine narrowly dodges said person, and hits san full in the face, like a spotlight. the person watches him carefully, studying him like a vintage relic at a museum.

with his best puppy-dog eyes, san begs the person to just put him out of his misery. to save him from the inescapable numbness; he can't even conjure up some tears to mourn for his last moments.

when bony hands go to reach for the knife buried in his stomach, san hopes his eyes convey his eternal gratitude to the person (even if they did murder his brother...). _please_ , his eyes glimmer, _put an end to it,_ he thinks. this shouldn't be a demanding request, considering they've literally brutally murdered the limp boy still slumped on top of san with no remorse.

with a wincing squelch, the knife is removed and san implores them to send it plummeting back into his body, just so he won't have to lie here for much longer consciously. he knows the towering person above him is considering it, too,

to his absolute dismay, they pocket the bloody knife.

and leaves san to die with his younger brother.

the loneliness spreads through the forest as the murderer's absence settles in, as if he had never entered. however, the cold cruelty of letting san die agonisingly slow knits it's way through the foliage. it leaves a sour, acidic taste on his tongue. yet, he still cannot weep.

he lies there quietly for what must be hours as the lack of oxygen slowly, but surely, kills him off. he wonders if he and his brother will ever be found.

san strokes jongho's cheek and with one last sigh, his heart stills.

—

**_welcome to illusion city!_ **

_population: 3_


	7. 11:11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "enjoy your stay in illusion city!"

"halmoni! i'm home!" mingi calls as he shuffles through the front door. the smell of dinner from the cooking hours ago lingers in the air, and the promise of hot cocoa and his blanket-swamped bed invites mingi further inside. his grandmother hollers back at him loudly from the living room (for a woman of ninety-nine years of age, she sure has a lot of stamina).

as mingi prepares his nightly hot chocolate (yes- hot cocoa is best drank during the summer time, an argument mingi will hold firmly to his chest until his dying breaths), his phone buzzes. he presses the phone between his shoulder and ear, leaving his two hands occupied for stirring.

"hello?"

"mingi! are you home yet?" undoubtedly, the caller is wooyoung, his signature obnoxious and high pitched voice resonating through mingi's eardrums and making him wince (he accidentally clangs the metal teaspoon against the ceramic mug loudly and shudders).

"yeah, why? what's up?"

"yeosang called me, but ended it when i picked up! and he won't reply to my texts or answer my calls. has he called you?"

"no, i'll try and call him too, if you want?" wooyoung sighs anxiously. mingi can picture his friend now: teeth tugging at the loose skin hanging from his swollen lips and chewed nails dragging through charcoal hair. he hesitates before answering mingi's question.

"woo? you okay?" another pause.

"mingi, i think i'm lost. i- i don't know here i am," wooyoung whispers hoarsely, his strained voice sending a frenzy of static and crackling sounds down mingi's speaker. at this point, he's taken the spoon out the cocoa, and the wavering steam travels upwards into the air beseechingly, glaring at mingi as he completely abandons his drink for wooyoung.

of course mingi is worried. worried is an understatement. as an only child who's grown up with only his grandmother for company, he'd heavily rely on his wild imagination and hyperbolic daydreams, which came as a severe consequence in situations like these. he's known as the coward, the scaredy-cat, the wimp, and honestly, he doesn't mind. it's all true- the way he flinches at the slightest of movements and can never be left alone pitch-black spaces are obvious telltale signs. he'll always believe in the monster under his bed, or the mad-axe murderer that awaits him from outside his house.

mingi is already running through worst-case scenarios of what may or could or will happen to wooyoung, until his friend cut through his thoughts: "mingi? hello?"

he must've zoned out.

"sorry, sorry- i'm here. tell me where you are, i'll see if i know your whereabouts," he suggests weakly. (not his most helpful idea, he'll admit.)

"uhm, there's a huge cherry blossom tree, with a wooden swing, and there's a huge forest behind me." mingi can barely hear him; his usual deafening voice is now mouse-quiet and hesitant, as if he's holding his breath whilst talking. mingi doesn't like the change.

"i... i think i know where you are, you're like half a mile from my house! okay, stay there, i'll come to get you, don't hang up-"

"don't come outside."

"w- what?" his arm is still outstretched, reaching for his jacket to go find him, but the tone of wooyoung's voice is terrifying. it's etched with warnings and bad omens and fear. it's dangerously soft and way, way too calm.

(if mingi's being completely honest, he's not fond of walking around town at eleven at night on his own, but he'd do it for wooyoung a million times over if it meant he'd never have to hear how frightened his voice sounds over the phone right now ever again.)

_"i said,_ **_don't come outside_ ** _."_

"why? wooyoung, what's going o-" the static is gone, and mingi is listening to a broken line. suddenly, all alone in his kitchen, mingi doesn't really want his hot cocoa (well, lukewarm cocoa) anymore. torn between staying indoors to obey wooyoung's barely recognisable voice and rushing outside to find his friend, mingi decides to dial yeosang's number, to see if he's okay.

after thirty seconds of monotonous beeping, it's clear there's no answer from him.

or seonghwa. or hongjoong. or yunho, san, or jongho.

what's going on?

dread plants itself into the pit of his stomach and grows into thorny vines of anxiety that suffocate his organs. the anxiety travels up his throat and sews his lips shut. _anybody but him would've been fine in this situation,_ he thinks. _why did this have to happen to him?_

 _inhale, exhale. inhale, exhale. what would hongjoong do?_ he asks himself after clearing a fraction of his scrambled brain.

he'd heroically search every street in south korea just to find wooyoung safe- that's what he'd do.

so that's what he'll do. he wills his stiff legs (they feel like concrete) to grab his jacket from the hook (is time travelling slower than before?) and calls to his grandmother upstairs.

"halmoni! i'm going out!" no answer. mingi reaches for the door swiftly, before he can change his mind-

wait, no answer? he'll have to check on his grandmother first.

"halmoni? is it okay if i go out for a sec?" he asks as he creaks her bedroom door open cautiously. (it is a ladies room, after all, and mingi is a gentleman who doesn't want to intrude.)

the bedroom door is ripped from his grasp and opens wide. mingi jumps out of his skin. the loud bang from the door colliding with the wall blinds him with fear and paint chips litter the floor. the window has been pushed open, and the curtains flail wildly about like ghostly arms. he's sure the windows must've been like this for a while- the draught is unbearable cold and works in partnership with mingi's fear to freeze his blood.

and then his grandmother is just lying in bed, as if she were fast asleep. normal, except for the swampy scarlet hue that drowns her body instead of duvets, and the rise of her chest breathing non-existent.

the lack of oxygen going to his brain makes mingi dizzy as he frantically searches his grandmother for wounds. his breathing is ragged and harsh and painful, and his vision is clouded with disbelief. his grandmother's body has been sliced and slashed so many times, that everywehre mingi touches, his hands go straight through raw flesh. the blood pours like spilled merlot and smells sweet.

he can't even try to look for a pulse- there's no clean surface of skin to hold without mingi's fingers losing their way in dark, bloody pools. hands dripping, he moves away and searches the rest of the room with frantic eyes. they travel to the window, and then he sees it.

_sees_ **_him_ ** _._

the glint of metal stings his vision as the weak orange streetlamp reveals a figure clearly responsible for the crimescene before him. hoodie up, boots heavy, deathly gaze- this boy has it all.

even if mingi does make it out alive after all this, he's definitely going to be plagued with a variety of heart problems later down the line- this is the stuff nightmares are born from.

he shuts the window with a bang, draws the curtains with vigour, and stomps his way downstairs to grab whatever measly weapon he can find. the television drones nonsense in the background as he visibly panics and grabs a cricket bat from the storage room under the stairs (he was star player in eighth grade, after all).

after blinds are shut and main lights are switched off, and the house is silent (he keeps the television turned on, but the volume off, for company), he pauses to think.

this town was a small one, quiet and friendly, and everybody knew each other. he and his grandma were polite and respectful, and mingi had never done anything to provoke any hate, let alone a murderer. in fact, they were quite a private family, and had no other proper connections inside or outside the city, save for his grandma's weekly bingo club and mingi's small group of seven best friends.

_so who was outside his house right now, smelling of bloody murder and death?_

he's conflicted on wether he should stand his ground and get ready for an attack, or hide and pray he disappears before anything can happen to him. he crouches behind a sofa and fixes his eyes to the door.

he holds his breath.

one knock. two knocks. the smashing of glass. mingi thinks he'll pass out before the murderer can get to him.

without thinking, he gets up from his spot just as the other turns a corner and enters the room.

 _idiot_.

they stare at each other for god knows how long, and mingi silently pleads. he's not sure what exactly he's begging for, wether it be to spare him or just end him quickly, but he slowly steps out in front of the boy and puts his hand out, a poor attempt at bargaining with a murderer. the boy seems to be thinking, his discerning gaze burning through the hoodie covering his eyes.

mingi blinks, and then falls to the floor. a cherry coloured substance seeps through the carpet. an indescribable pain in the form of a bullet wound is his downfall, and the culprit is still stood motionless in front of him, bearing a small handgun.

 _where'd his guy get a goddamn gun in korea?_ he thinks, before admitting defeat and relaxing his muscles. _leave_ , his eyes whisper to the perpetrator, and without looking back, he does exactly that.

mingi lays there, slightly bewildered and confused. it'd all happened so quickly, he's barely even sure what happened. anyway, he's grateful that he won't have to mourn his adored grandmother much longer, as his pulse slips away.

a sharp stinging makes his chest pang as he thinks of her, and an even sharper pain arrives when he's reminded of his friends. his best friends. he'll never see them again, never hear their voices again. he hopes they won't miss him too much, and that his death won't affect them badly.

then, he remembers wooyoung. wooyoung, all alone out there, and mingi's not sure wether he's safe. he'll never know, and his heart twinges with regret and worry. he hopes yeosang calls him back.

his hot chocolate must be cold now. mingi would still drink it anyway, if he wasn't here, bleeding out all over his grandma's favourite rug.

he closes his eyes as he replays his best memories with his favourite people, his weak heart finally able to rest after the torturous events of the past hour.

he sighs heavily and slips away just as the television blares breaking news:

_"firemen are attempting to subdue a fire with no identifiable source. it has so far killed one; melted debris from the scene suggests the victim to be a boy aged seventeen, named_ **_park seonghwa_ ** _."_

—

**_welcome to illusion city!_ **

_population: 2_


	8. 00:00

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "thank you for visiting illusion city. come again soon!"

**⚠️ tw: suicide !!**   
_since it's a really sensitive topic, i'll try not to be graphic about it!!!_   
_< 3_

he's shaking terribly now, a mess of frail limbs and muddy jeans. his hair is glued to his forehead with sweat, but he's so, _so_ cold.

unmistakably, wooyoung sees the top of mingi's house peering through the forest clearing he's standing in. unusually, all the lights are off, but wooyoung has bigger problems to be worrying about than his friend's electricity bill.

petrified would be an understatement, to describe his blown pupils and stolen breaths. he briefly remembers a phone call of sorts, and a quick scroll through his mobile confirms a chat with his friend mingi just over five minutes ago. he breathes a fresh sigh of relief; (he's not losing too much memory yet) he remembers maybe talking about yeosang, about a tree, _and that is it._

he completely blanks out after that.

this has been happening for a while now, he knows: going somewhere he needs to be, and then turning up somewhere else with no recollection of what he's doing and what he's done. like dimensia, but he's sure he's too young for the disease.

it's dangerous, it's frightening, it's deeply worrying. and now wooyoung is lost in a forest he can't remember heading into, with the moon's head tilted high above him as if it's turning up it's nose at him. _getting lost again? what next, wooyoung?_ it drawls lazily.

he shudders, his too-thin black jacket and too-heavy black boots serving no warmth. the moon's light is weak and cold, and it peaks devilishly through choking clouds that only allows wooyoung's eyes to see the black silhouettes of his hands and nothing else. shy streaks of yellow from the streetlights are kind enough to stop him from crashing into tree after tree. he tumbles out of the clearing in a rush, sharp leaves and violent twigs leaving their mark on him. in the middle of the deserted street, the quiet forces him to tune into his own racing thoughts and it gives him pains too agonising to be just a migraine.

from behind him, the rustling of leaves is heard, and a boy appears looking less disheveled and much calmer than himself.

he's a boy wooyoung's age and height, wearing similar (if not, the same) clothing, albeit the other is wearing a grotty facemask and blood accessorises his entire body. the glint of fresh cherry red and the pungent stench of metal brings mingi back to wooyoung's worrisome mind.

before he can open his mouth, or move away, or attack him, the boy surprisingly talks first.

"hello," comes a muffled greeting underneath a hood and mask.

there is nothing stopping wooyoung from running as fast as he can away from this nightmare. yet he stays, trapped in a spell of curiosity and hopelessness.

"who are you?" he asks, instantly regretting it.

he chuckles. wooyoung already knows he won't get a straight answer.

"you already know who i am." he looks knowingly at wooyoung, full of cocky tones and amused attitudes. his heart is in his throat, and if it travels up any higher, wooyoung feels like he'll choke. he speaks in short sentences, but the words spoken carry too much information, and his answers leave wooyoung with more questions that he had originally.

"you're not me," wooyoung whispers, voice jumpy and muscles taut, "you're _not me_."

he laughs again, _the bastard._

"where are your friends, jung wooyoung?" he inquires; it's a seemingly innocent question, sly smirk hidden beneath the mask and sharp gaze peaking under the hoodie. his hands are in his pockets, and he's slouched, half a centimetre shorter than wooyoung. still, he poses as the biggest threat wooyoung has ever received in his life, and if he wasn't scared to death before, then now he was _beyond fucking petrified._

"they-" his mind flashes to yeosang's empty phone line and mingi's forgotten call. the boy follows his nervous glance towards mingi's silent house and quirks an eyebrow.

"where are my friends?" he dares to ask, though it comes out in a short gasp of fear. he receives another laugh. _he_ _laughs like a fucking dolphin on steroids,_ he thinks to console himself, _annoying ass._

(the boy looks as if he knows exactly what he's thinking, too, and mirth radiates off of his smug body. _fucking prick.)_

he takes one pointed look towards wooyoung, sharp pupils carving the answer into him. and wooyoung, he knows exactly what that means. the pain in his head worsens, and now his heart is squeezing from grief. tears gather and threaten to spill onto his ghostly white cheeks.

it's a horrifically bad idea to take him eyes off the monster in front of him, but he does anyway, to escape the prying, predator-like eyes that tear him inside-out and knows all his secrets. wooyoung looks down at his hands and blinks pearls of tears that cling to his jutted chin. he takes a sharp intake of breath and blinks.

and then his hands are stained with blood: a thick lipstick red that makes wooyoung's insides curl and flip inside himself. through the gaps of his stained fingers, he can see the blur of his black boots that are more scarlet that black. a cry escapes his mouth and his knees almost give way.

he blinks again, and then it's gone.

he's back to normal, boots clean and hands pure.

he snaps his head up to meet the eyes of the boy watching him intently (the whiplash sends another wave of excruciating pain through his head) and he know the asshole is the cause of whatever is going on with him.

again, like deja vu, the boy talks before wooyoung can get a word in first.

but instead of speech, his words spill onto the empty street in the form of pointed looks with hidden meanings and a knife pulled out from a pocket. the answer is forced into wooyoung's hand in the shape of a small swiss-army knife and blood.

_it's ugly_ , he thinks.

but it fits perfectly into his palm, like it was specifically manufactured for wooyoung, _and only wooyoung_ , to use.

it'd already been used by the former recently, anyway- the sticky blood that grasps onto the serrated edge matches the scarlet lumps trapped underneath the boy's fingernails, and the look he sends wooyoung's way is almost apologetic, like he's guilty for using wooyoung's knife without permission.

_is this his knife?_

he's confused, so confused, head whirling and brain falling out of his skull, and he's just so tired of it all. tired of losing his memories, tired of always feeling so lost. he just really wants to go home.

the boy, _still an asshole_ , interrupts his trainwreck spiralling.

" _you know what to do with it._ " it's not a question, but it's not a statement.

it's a demand.

wooyoung's unable to control his expressions, and he knows shock is painted all over his face. _he knows what the boy wants_. he doesn't know how he knows, but it comes naturally, instinctual.

_the boy wants him to kill himself._

wooyoung's hand twitches involuntarily, like he wants to do it. he shakes his head. _what? i don't want to do that!_

**_but you do,_** the boy says with unspoken words, **_you can do it right now._** ****

wooyoung's never been suicidal, never been dragged to cliffedge of hopelessness, has never known life without happiness.

and yet here he is, clutching a knife that whispers sweet nothings and empty promises of a comforting afterlife.

"i can't do that. i don't want to kill myself," he says, more to himself than to the other.

**_but you should do it. what've you got to lose?_ **

he's got everything to lose: his family, his best friends, his shiba inu dog, pucchi.

but does any of that matter, if he can't even remember the times spent with them? he loses more memories with each passing second, for them to be replaced in fear and confusion and despair. wooyoung wracks his brain for his most recent memories, and maybe there was a treehouse somewhere? but nothing immediately springs to mind. _when was the last time he'd seen yeosang, his best friend?_

_why can't he remember anything?_

he's weeping now, breaking sobs that climb out of his mouth and shake his whole frame.

**_end it all now, and you'll get your answer._ **

it's a bargain too good to be true, and wooyoung has no choice. he plunges the small knife straight through what he hopes is his heart, and finally, gratefully, collapses.

thankfully, it is quick and painless and quiet.

finally, after god knows how long, his mind is at peace.

he doesn't notice the sudden absence of the boy that was watching him, with no evidence of ever being there and no evidence of ever leaving.

—

**_welcome to illusion city!_ **

_population: 0_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're nearing the end of the book now!! if this chapter confused you, then hopefully all will be answered in the next update! :)
> 
> it's been very entertaining reading your theories, but nobody"s guessed correctly yet on who the murderer is! leave your thoughts in the comments; i'd love to know what you guys are thinking!
> 
> if you've gotten this far, then tysm for reading! i hope you're having a great day wherever you are <3


	9. 00:00

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "schizophrenia is a mental health condition where you may see, hear or believe things that are not real.
> 
> symptoms of schizophrenia include hearing voices or seeing things that are not real, unusual beliefs and confused thinking."

"security alert! code red! _i repeat, code red!_ "

"there's been an escape? from which ward?"

"the **schizophrenia** ward, a band-red patient- he's highly dangerous."

"jung wooyoung? oh my god, we're fucking _doomed_."

**_—_ **

"breaking news: a patient from the infamous _aurora mental institution_ has escaped high breaches of security and is on the loose- a search party has been sent out for a sixteen year old boy, _jung_ _wooyoung_. police say they have reason to believe he is the responsible for the murders of three boys earlier this evening, but the number of total killings is unconfirmed. _aurora mental_ _institution_ have released an official statement to citizens in seoul to stay indoors and limit contact with anyone other than family. jung wooyoung was diagnosed with _severe_ schizophrenia at just nine years of age. may we exaggerate, this boy is **highly dangerous** and most likely armed."

"jung wooyoung? _our wooyoungie_?"

"oh god, that's our boy. we should have visited him more, we should have helped him more instead of leaving him to _rot_ alone in that mental asylum!"

**—**

"breaking news: after two days of extensive investigation, police found the bodies of seven boys from different neighbourhoods in seoul. after thorough interrogation with family, police have no reason to believe the boys knew each other at all, let alone personally know their killer, sixteen year old _jung wooyoung._ parents say that all the boys had nothing in connection and all attended different schools. our seoul reporter is at the scene of where the murderer's body was found:"

"after an hour of frantic searching for one boy, police and SWAT finally found the body of _jung_ _wooyoung_ , holding nothing but a small hand knife in his chest. police believe his death to be a suicide, but will wait further for a full forensic examination of the weapon. he was found alone in an empty street just outside his last murder, where he shot sixteen year old _song mingi_."

**—**

"mr and mrs jung? this is the FBI on behalf of the jung wooyoung case?"

"in his room at the institution, nurses found some... rather disturbing drawings that give us further insight on why he carried out those murders."

"the drawings include depictions of **eight boys and a treehouse** , which we know belonged to a boy named _jeong_ _yunho_ , one of the victims. wooyoung drew them all as best friends, all living in the same area. but as none of the figures in the drawings are labelled with names, we can confirm the murders wooyoung carried out weren't specifically targeted at anybody in particular, and it just so happened that wooyoung killed those seven boys."

"in the records _aurora mental institution_ have given us, it's stated that wooyoung would often stare into space and become unresponsive. he was tested for catatonic symptoms which some schizophrenic patients have, but they believed he was just daydreaming. this started happened around a year ago, so we think that this is when he perhaps made up his **illusion**."

"wooyoung's mental state seemed to be steadily improving up until that point- he was responsive with his treatment and therapy. but he then suddenly became closed in on himself, not speaking to any of the nurses and would lash out when anybody tried to interrupt his daydreaming sessions. this is why he was recorded as a 'red-band' patient- the colour meaning he was _highly dangerous and extremely violent_."

"when he was first admitted into the institute at ten years old, wooyoung told his therapists he was lonely. on the record, it says it suggests he never really had many friends and was often left out. this links his delusional world he created to rooted emotional trauma that hindered his progress in recovery and thus lead to the events within that day."

"he killed _nine_ people in total- seven teenage boys, one bus driver, and the grandmother of one of the other victim's. however, the latter two victims seemed to just be at the wrong place and the wrong time, and wooyoung didn't actually have a motive to kill them. but **the** **seven** **boys** were always drawn with smiles and in positive scenarios at that treehouse, so we see no reason as to why he actually _killed_ them. it's a puzzling case, but i guess we'll never know the reason. _at least he's in a better place now_."

**_—_ **

"today marks the one-year anniversary of the **jung** **wooyoung** **case** , where a sixteen year old schizophrenia patient escaped a high-security mental institute and killed seven teenage boys in various ways. after many theories and public speculation, psychologists can assume that mr jung murdered these boys unwillingly, lead by a voice/voices he heard that are common symptoms of schizophrenia. in drawings found in his isolated room, police found crayon images of a **black** **silhouette** that psychologists can infer is what wooyoung must've imagined to be the convict on that tragic night. although we cannot excuse the teenager of his crimes, we can provide context and reasoning for what he did and why he did it- scientists believe wooyoung himself didn't remember committing manslaughter, and will most likely have blanked out during the events. therefore, jung wooyoung would not have remembered those crimes, and did not willingly commit suicide; the silhouette wooyoung depicts was his enemy, and the ' _person' behind it all_."

**—**

**_fin._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *to clarify, within this is story, my intent is not to glorify or glamorise mental illnesses or schizophrenia in any way.
> 
> // and that concludes the end of treehouse! if you're still confused, basically illusion city is the a world wooyoung has made up due to his schizophrenia, hence the small population count. the 'city' started with nine people- ateez and the 'killer'. however, the killer was wooyoung, but he had made up the killer to be a separate person. that's why at the end, when wooyoung dies, the population count goes from two to zero (the killer is part of wooyoung's imagination, but wooyoung did the murders, if this makes sense haha). also, it's why the deaths of the bus driver and mingi's halmoni didn't get counted in the population count- they weren't a part of wooyoung's made up world.
> 
> i guess i kinda just hope you guys got it in the end? i'd hate for you guys to still be left hanging!! i know there were a few plotholes but shhhh. also all of this is written at 1am and not proofread, my bad. :0
> 
> if you have any questions, comment here and i'll answer them!!
> 
> thank you for reading this and sticking through to the end!! this is the first book i've ever completed and all your comments mean the world to me!! please stay tuned to more ateez fics in the future!! <3

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on wattpad @/1117MIN and twitter @/jonghocafe !! take care <3


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